#i can't say i've ever heard a duet one that was same-sex

[safination]

Mistletoe Deal

|Masterlist| Pairings: Alastor x Reader Tags/ Warnings; f!Reader, Demon! Alastor, Established Relationships, Soft Alastor, P in V, Cockwarming, Oral Sex (f! Receiving) [TLDR: After seven years, Alastor finally decides to show himself to you. He can't stay for very long, but maybe a deal underneath the mistletoe could buy you a night with him, and him alone.] AN: Happy Christmas everyone! I hope you enjoy my litter offering for the winterfest event at @voxtekinc is hosting. Gosh, smut is so much harder than I thought it was. This isn't my best work, because I know I could do better but the holiday rush got to me, so this is all I've got T_T. Please, do enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think. This is my first smut huhu please be gentle with me <3

Alastor stands before you after seven, long years.

This is the first time you’ve seen him since he left. You heard about his stints in the news. The countless ways he’s defended the Hazbin Hotel in such big displays of power, and of course, his whole duet with Vox. It’s almost . . . as if he was being loud on purpose, as if it was a way to announce his presence.

There’s a part of you that hoped this was his way of calling out, that he would visit soon, but Alastor never did.

Alastor takes the open seat on the porch steps, staring straight at the dark, red night.

There must be a Christmas party happening in the Hazbin Hotel. It’s the only plausible reason why he’s wearing a dress suit, complete with a red vest, and a proper tail-coat. His hair is slicked back. Alastor only ever slicks it back for formal parties.

The nightgown you’re wearing suddenly feels a little bit underdressed.

You stay silent, upholding the silence that’s lasted for seven years.

You wrap the blanket closer around your shoulders, sitting as still as possible on the porch steps. There’s that small voice saying Alastor might disappear if you move.

There’s a sense of contentment. It’s weird, but in a funny way that always seems to arise with Alastor. You’ve imagined this day since the moment Alastor left: what you would say, what you would feel, what you would do.

Anger.

Irritation.

Sadness.

Questions— so many questions. Why? Why? Why why why why whywhywhywhwy? Why, Alastor?

None of your questions seem to matter right at this moment with Alastor sitting next to you. He’s so close that you can feel the heat of him despite the blanket. He’s so close that you can hear the breath he takes, and the distinct smell of alcohol. He’s so close, yet you do not dare move closer.

See? Weird in a funny way.

Yet, as Alastor watches the stars, you’re stuck watching him as if he was your own personal star. All you can think about is how the night air blows the strands of his hair. How he looks ahead of you with the same smile he’s always worn.

It’s silent for a long time — a very, very long time . . . until the slow rustle of clothes. Alastor slides his tail-coat off his shoulders, carefully removing it until they’re off his long arms. He folds it in front of him, fiddling with the lapels. It’s almost funny how unsure he looks.

Alastor leans closer, and your skin prickles from the heat. He pulls the blanket around your shoulders, securing them to protect you from Hell’s cruel and cold night until warmth itself settles straight into your bones.

Alastor presses one, single kiss on your cheek. “Merry Christmas, dearest.”

He wraps his coat around your shoulders, and it’s even warmer than the blanket. 

Alastor stays silent, even as he stands to leave.

No – not again.

Your hands reach out to grab him before you fully think about it. It’s instinct, plain and simple, instinct.

There’s surprise that flickers in his eyes. How silly of him to have such a look on his face. It’s almost insulting. What is seven years compared to the decades you’ve had together, or the decades you will have together?

Alastor relents to the silent command, sitting next to you once more. His fingers trace the ring you’ve always worn, and it’s as if he’s surprised you’re still wearing it. Now that . . . that’s insulting.

How silly.

How absolutely silly.

You take the other edge of the blanket, and wrap it around his shoulder. It forces him to press even closer than before.

“You have a talent for insulting me without having to say a word, dearest.” You lean on his shoulders, nuzzling straight into him. “Do you think my vows to you are so weak that seven years would make a difference?”

There’s still that insulting uncertainty in the way he reaches out, but you meet him halfway, leaning your cheek into his hand until his hold becomes confident. Alastor swipes your cheek with his thumb. “Is this much better?”

“Indeed.”

Silence rises once more, but it’s comfortable. There’s so much you want to say, and even more you want to do, . . . but . . . but Alastor traces the back of your hand oh, so softly, careful not to pierce you with his claws. You settle into his hold, enjoying this little bubble of a moment.

The tips of your claws trace the likes of his red vest. “Are you going to stay?”

“I . . ..” Alastor’s ears flicker before they press to the back of his head. “I can’t.”

“Alastor.” There’s more you want to say, but the words catch on his name. “Alastor . . . Alastor.”

 “Yes, my dear?” Alastor smiles at you, answering your call for him.

Oh . . . It’s been years since you called out his name, and received an answer.

“Don’t leave me tonight,” you say, plain and simple, even as your arms betray your desperation. They snake around his waist, holding him closer to you. “You can leave before the sun rises. If that’s too late you can leave as soon as I fall asleep.”

Alastor touches your face, smoothening whatever expression you seem to be making. “So much fussing,” he says. “Stop making such a face, cher.”

“Then, take responsibility,” you tell him, leaning into his touch. “You’ll be too busy to call me about your safety, and I’ll have to wait until the news reports of the next attack to see if you’re alive. I’ll have to wait the entire time, worrying about you.”

“You’re forgetting who I am.” Alastor laughs at you. 

“And you’re forgetting who you are to me,” you say, chuckling a little. “Why should I be subjected to such torture for you?”

Alastor laughs at you again, and his eyes bulge as he does. He takes your hand, pulling it closer to him with a smile that shows off the yellow in his teeth, and presses his lips on the ring around your finger.

Well, that’s certainly an answer to your question.

“It’s impossible to deny you when you’re making such a face.” Alastor smiles down at you, brushing his fingers down your cheek. It’s such a small gesture that means the world to you. “Shall we make a deal?”

“If it ensures you’ll stay tonight,” you tell him as Alastor tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Alastor snaps his fingers, and magic pools above you, conjuring something above. Oh . . . it’s a mistletoe. It dangles above your heads, swaying from the chill of Hell’s night air.

“Just one of these shall do.” Alastor brushes his thumb across your lips. “Just one from you, and I’ll stay until the night lasts, and not a second before.”

You lean even closer, pressing your forehead against his. Alastor’s here. He’s really here.

The first kiss goes on his cheek, and it lingers far longer than it should. The next one goes on his other cheek. His nose. His forehead. The edges of his lips. It’s foul to tease him like this, but you do so anyway.

You brush your lips across his, and finally, finally, give Alastor a proper kiss. It’s still the same soft and chapped lips as you remember. It’s all still the same.

Alastor brushes his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes flutter to a close.

The deal was for one, but you press kiss after kiss after kiss until there's no denying that you’ve fulfilled your end of the deal. Alastor has to stay for as long as the night lasts.

“I think this is my favorite Christmas tradition yet,” you say, a small but happy smile on your lips. “Merry Christmas, dearest.”

Alastor laughs, snapping the blanket and coat away, and steals one last kiss from your lips. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

The door opens with a click, yet your hands are still around the metal. There’s no reason to be nervous, but your hand refuses to open the doorknob.

Alastor reaches from behind, wrapping his hand around yours. The warmth of his hold transfers to your skin. Such a simple gesture, yet it tethers you next to him. “My dear, shall we go inside together?”

It’s the way he said it, ‘together. 

There’s a small smile on your lips that you don’t remember smiling. That’s the thing with Alastor—just being with him brings out joy that blooms across your face. The door opens with a twist of the knob. 

Together – that’s how you and Alastor open the door, and that’s how it should be.

It’s . . . home. It’s been home for a very, very, long time even during the lonely nights you didn’t want them to be. These traces he left always seemed to haunt you.

The scattered radios across the shelves, the grand piano in the other room, and the clutter of stained broadcasting scripts; these will always be home.

Alastor slides into your field of vision with a cheery smile, and boops your nose. You almost succumb to that sweet calling of biting off that finger for such an audacity. “What’s going on inside that pretty, little head of yours – something ridiculous, perhaps?”

 Pretty. 

A pleased smile grows on your lips. It’s there despite the mix of praise and carefully hidden insults your husband likes to throw in for good fun.

“An answer, please.” He flicks the tip of your nose.

You swat his hand away.

Alastor rubs the back of his hand with a click of his tongue. “Come on, now, don’t be shy. I’m here to blow away any ridiculous thought of yours.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about it,” you say. “I think . . .”

For the first time in seven years. . . it’s not just you in this house, and the wounds that haunt you begin to heal from the traces of you and him. 

There’s a wedding photo that shows you and Alastor. It’s propped up in a way that you and Alastor can see it over morning coffee.

There’s a book that Alastor reads out loud while you do some threadwork. It’s mindlessly thrown across a coffee table that has two distinct mug stains that sit next to each other.

“I was thinking about the living room.” You grab his hand, pressing one, single kiss over his ring. “That’s all there is.”

Alastor’s smiling at you. “And what do you see when you look at our living room?”

You and him.

Him and you.

The evidence is already there.

“I see us.” You squeeze his hand. “Me and you – right here, together.”

Alastor squeezes back with a smile, and crashes you straight into his arm with a hug. Your nose hits his chest, but you stay within his hold. The faint metallic scent of alcohol mixed with Alastor, and you cannot pull away. Not from him – never from him.

His hand travels up your back, ghosting over your neck until he cradles your head with an oh, so soft grasp.

“Al?” You tap on his bicep. “Al . . . Alastor!”

“Yes, dear?” He leans his full weight on you, not caring if you’re able to withstand the force of his body. “That is, indeed, my name.”

“Heavy! You’re too . . . heavy,” you wheeze out, and plant your feet on the floor. “Sweetheart, you’re going to fall!”

“Dearest, you keep forgetting who your husband is.” Alastor squeezes tighter, pressing you deeper into him with a hearty laugh. “As if I would ever let you go. We’re falling together.”

Your knees shake from the weight, and it’s that sheer will to stay upright that keeps you standing, even as Alastor goes limp in your hold.

He cradles your head in his hold, brushing the back of your neck with his thumb . . . before pushing you with his hips, knocking you over. A small groan escapes when your knees give out, and you collapse on top of Alastor, your nose hitting his chest.

There’s that small voice in your head. It fans the flames of irritation, but, well, Alastor took the brunt of the land. He cushions your body with his own, and it’s the only reason why you’re sprawled on his chest and not on the cold, hardwood, floor.

It’s simple, even when it’s not supposed to be, because all annoyance gets thrown out the window.

His eyes flutter to a close when he leans into your hand. There are no words, but everything that has to be said is already there.

Up the stairs, across the hallway, and into the bedroom, all done hand in hand.

The lights flick open and . . .oh. You and Alastor are between these walls as well.  

There it is again, that ever present, ‘two’. Two sets of pillows are tuck at the head of the bed. Two different alarm clocks facing each other on the nightstand. There’s only one blanket, but its thick corners are spread across two sides of the bed.

It’s you and him in this space. Together — as it should be. 

How were you able to endure seven years with just the traces of Alastor to accompany you through the night? It doesn’t matter, at least for tonight, not when he agreed to stay.

Alastor changes into his pajamas. It’s still in the same place it’s been for the last seven years. If he has questions about it, Alastor keeps them to himself.

You finally settle into the bed, watching Alastor crawl underneath the covers. It’s automatic, instinctive even, to press yourself into his chest.

Alastor settles a hand on your waist, pressing his cheek on the crown of your head. His thumbs go up and down and up and down, tracing small patterns into your nightgown.

You press your lips on his collarbone, and Alastor responds with a kiss to your forehead. It’s such a soft gesture that it compels you to trace your lips all over the lines of his shoulder, and hold him as close to you as possible.

There’s this nagging voice that’s fueling the need to feel him. You need to feel his skin underneath your touch. You need to feel the heat of his body, every inch of it, right now.

But that blasted shirt is getting in your way.

The buttons of his pajamas dig into your cheek. It’s annoying. So, fucking, annoying. It’s getting in the way. This blasted cloth is preventing you from fully feeling Alastor. 

You reach for the button of his shirt, but Alastor catches your wrist before you could reach the first one. “It’s annoying me,” you say, grumbling as you tug on your wrist. “I want it off.”

Alastor releases your wrist, and presses a hand to his face, but there’s a smile on his lips. “Do as you wish.”

The way he smiles drives you a little bit more insane. You start at him, blinking as you do, and rip open the buttons of his pajamas, exposing the light fluff on his chest.

Alastor crosses his arms over his chest, reeling away with a hearty laugh. “How uncouth of you, dearest.”

“Seven years and you’ve turned shy on me.” You laugh as well. “I’ve already seen every— “

Oh . . .oh.

So, that’s why Alastor tried to stop you. Scars are dime a dozen on his body, and you’ve worshipped every, single one, but that was new. There’s a long slash on his chest that obviously wasn’t there seven years ago. You’re intimate with all the marks on his body, but not this one.

You trace the scar with your lips, trailing soft kisses down the line.

“I heard what happened,” you say, whispering against the fur on his chest. A soft sigh escapes when you can finally feel the heat on his skin. “I was listening to your broadcast that day. You gave me quite the fright, Alastor.”

“I wasn’t aware you were listening.”

“I never stopped.” You press kiss after kiss after kiss on this new scar, and each word you say brushes your lips on him. “Our radios are constantly on, waiting until the static stops, and your broadcast fills the air.”

Alastor shudders underneath your attention. He tilts your chin with the tips of his fingers. Those eyes of his stare straight into yours with that oh, so soft look in him.

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, teasing him for good fun.

Alastor huffs at you, jerking your chin to face him. His forehead rests against yours for more than a second. Chapped lips trace across your own, brushing them with such a familiar tenderness. Alastor captures your lips into a kiss.

The soft fur on his chest tickles your palms, and a small giggle escapes you. There’s fur all over your husband! He’s part deer, complete with antlers and a tail. Oh, what a silly afterlife you’re living.

Alastor snakes his arms around your waist, guiding you back towards the mattress. There’s a smile on him when he settles above you.

The kiss travels from your cheek to your lips until he’s nibbling on the bottom. It’s a silent command to part them, and one that you eagerly follow. Alastor inserts his tongue into your wet mouth, sliding it around with rhythmic swirls as he tastes the inside.

You run your hands across his shoulder and down his back. A small hum when he leaves a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and into your neck.

Alastor reaches for the straps of your nightgown, pulling it lower until your breasts are fully exposed to the dim night. His hot breath hovers above your nipple, and it tingles the sensitive skin

A small gasp escapes when Alastor latches onto your nipple, licking and nibbling around the sensitive bud. Alastor presses his shard teeth hard enough to leave a mark . . . and well, you can’t help but jump as pain morphs into a familiar pleasure that dampens your underwear further.

He detaches from your nipple with a slight pop. A thin line of saliva bridges his tongue and your breast.

And . . . huh.

When did Alastor raise your nightgown?  You weren’t aware of his fingers playing with the band of your underwear until he was tugging on it, asking for permission.

There’s a dangerous look on his face that has you clenching around nothing. A simple nod —that’s all you’re able to give. There’s nothing really else to do but give him the permission he’s been waiting for, especially as he watches you with that glint in his eyes.

Alastor’s fingers catch on the band of your underwear. He’s watching every twitch of your eyebrows, every heavy rise and fall of your breasts. Your underwear slips lower and lower.

He lifts your hips high enough that he’s able to pull the thing down your legs, and thrown somewhere irrelevant. They’re not needed for tonight, it seems.

Alastor takes your leg, worships it with soft nibbles that trail higher and higher and higher.

Your legs try to close together, but Alastor’s hold is too firm.

“Seven years, and you’ve turned shy on me.” Alastor pushes your knees even further apart. He rewards the inside of your thigh a little kiss when you don’t try to fight him. “It’s just me, cher.”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice. “Not exactly my fault,” you grumble, kicking him a little. “It’s been . . . It’s been a while.”

His smile widens. “Then I shall refamiliarize you.”.

Alastor doesn’t bother waiting for your reply, diving straight into your folds. His wet tongue swirls between your folds with agonizing slowness. You stiffen a moan, clutching the bed sheets as he continues to lap around them.

His tongue swirls around your clit, and your legs try to close, even as a small, breathy moan escapes. Alastor presses your thighs apart with more firmness than before. He anchors a leg on your shoulder, biting down on the fat as punishment. The tips of his tongue swirl around the bite mark.

“It really has been a while.” Alastor smiles up at you, mischief in his eyes, and presses a kiss right on top of his bite. “I’ll excuse your earlier eagerness. I’ve been neglecting you for far too long.”

You try to push your nightgown a little lower. It’s funny how shy you’ve suddenly become under his gaze.

“Don’t laugh. I didn’t. . . .” The words are hard to find, especially when he marks you with another bite while waiting for a response. “Alastor, I . . . I didn’t ask you to stay for this.”

He presses on your leg, bending you when he leans closer to chase a kiss from your lips. “You seduce me with your words, and say this isn’t what you were planning from the beginning.” He licks a path up your cheek. “Yet the buttons on my shirt are broken.”

You press a hand on his chest. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Very well,” he says, laughing at you. “One word from you, and I shall stop.”

Silence.

Alastor smiles at you, and takes the silence as the answer it is. He pulls your hips closer, diving straight down to slurp the slick from your cunt. The sudden jolt of stimulation forces your back to arch, and your hand finds his head, gripping his hair a little.

Half of his face is covered, but he’s looking so intently at you that it’s hard to look away.

Your eyes close as he pulls you even closer, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit. Small gasps escape from your mouth as Alastor inserts his tongue into you.

Alastor plays with your folds before inserting a finger. A shudder runs straight up your spine.

“A-Al . . .,” you gasp out, thighs trembling when he massages that already sensitive bundle of nerves. “Ah!”

A familiar tight coil builds its tension. So much so that you’re meeting him halfway, grinding down on his face. You’re so close. Heat travels down your stomach, tingling every nerve of your body. You need . . .

“More.” It comes out like a greedy whine. “Please . . . I’m . . . I’m so clo— Ah!”

Alastor sucks on your clit, before inserting another finger. A loud moan tears through your throat. The sound mixes with squelching of your fluids to create such an indecent sound.

These seven years have not diminished his knowledge of your body. Alastor is using everything he knows to his advantage, easily playing you like a kazoo.

There’s that look in his eyes again — that glint that promises danger. Your legs wrap around his neck, and you pull him tighter to you, cushion him with the plump of your thighs. Alastor’s smile grows wider, and he sucks harder on your clit. The coil in your belly finally, finally snaps.

Your orgasm rushes out like a flood, and Alastor laps it all up like a thirsty Sinner. The fingers around your hips dig into the skin, pulling you closer even as your bud toes that line of overstimulation.

Alastor releases your cunt, and a line of saliva connects his tongue to you. The evidence of your release stains his mouth. His tongue licks around his lips, and a pleased smile grows on his face.

“You taste really sweet, cher.” Alastor rises higher, worshiping your body with trails of kisses up your stomach. It tickles a little. He captures your lips, and you have no idea what he’s talking about. There’s nothing sweet about what you taste.

The tips of your nails trace this new scar, running it along the length of his chest. You’re intimately familiar with the scars painting his chest. This one won’t be different—all you need is time, and eternity offers plenty.

Your fingers trail lower, breaching the band of his pajamas to pull him out. Alastor’s cock twitches as you massage that little bit of pre-cum around his head.

His head tilts back as a moan releases from his lips, but Alastor grabs your wrist, stopping you from going any lower. “We wouldn’t want to waste it,” he says. “It would be a shame to do so.”

You squeeze the length of his cock one last time before releasing him. “Next time, then.”

“Next time.”

Alastor leans closer, trailing his nose on the expanse of your neck before pressing a kiss and nibbling on the skin. His tongue swirls around the marks his sharp teeth leave, and it almost distracts you from the way he aligns the head of his cock, swirling it around to lubricate himself.

Alastor breaches your entrance, stretching your walls with such a slow pace that you would consider it a punishment of some sort. He takes his time as if letting your walls feel every inch of him until he’s bottomed out.

“Alastor . . . wait,” you say, sighing as you feel him inside your walls, and rub on his shoulders to grab his attention. “Just . . . wait.”

Alastor jerks away, but you wrap your arms around his neck before he could fully slip out of your cunt. The sudden force of your arms causes him to collapse on top of you.

A small groan escapes both your lips when he crashes on your breast. Despite the soft cushion, there’s a distinct twitch in his eye that makes you laugh.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Alastor glances up at you, face buried between your breast, and reaches out to tuck away a bit of hair from your face.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You hold him closer, tightening your embrace to pull him deeper into your chest. The weight of him grounds you, even as the words you want to say jostles in your throat. “I just . . .”

“Then, tell me what’s on your mind,” Alastor tells you, cock still inside. “Don’t lie to me, not to me – never to me.”

The base of his hooves presses against your ankles. The fur on his chest tickles your stomach with every breath he takes. His fingers are tracing small circles on your shoulder. Everything about him shoots waves of high frequency to your skin. You’re so keenly aware of everything about it that it becomes almost overwhelming.

“It’s you, Alastor,” you say, brushing a finger across his cheek, stifling a groan when his cock throbs inside you. “You’re on my mind. It’s just . . . ”

There’s so much you want to tell him, and so much more you want him to hear. It’s Alastor who’s always had the talent with words, and it's strikingly evident how incompetent you are when the words refuse to even form. 

How do you begin to describe the heavy beating of your chest?

Instead, you trail your hand down the expanse of his arm, until you’re pulling his hand closer to your lips. One, single kiss across the ring around his finger. It holds everything you want him to hear, but do not know how to say.

Alastor’s hips buckle, driving his cock deeper into your walls. The sudden feeling of his cock stretching even further forces your nails to dig into his skin.

He chuckles a little, grunting a small apology as he presses his lips on your cheek, and then to the other side. Alastor preppers your face with his lips, kissing you just as slowly, just as tenderly as the way he entered you. It’s less hungry, and less consuming.

There’s nothing to worry about, after all. Alastor always seems to understand you better than yourself.

“I was waiting for you. That's why I was outside in the cold.” You brush your fingers across the expanse of his jaw, using the tip of your nail to tilt his chin. “You didn’t come for me.”

Alastor leans lower to chase your lips into a kiss, but you grab a fistful of the back of his hair, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“You don’t come for me either.” Alastor groans as you tighten the grip on his hair, exposing his neck to you. “I put on such a grand show that day, hoping you were listening. That blasted picture box took a picture of me, and I allowed it to be taken for you, and only you.”

“I guess we were both fools waiting on each other.” You trace your fingers over the expanse of his smile. “Alastor . . .”

His smile widens. “Yes, my dear?”

“Alastor.” You press your finger into his lips, slipping into his mouth. “Alastor.”

Alastor twirls his tongue around the tip, nibbling the skin as he bobs his head. He releases your finger, and a bridge of saliva trails across. “Yes, dearest?”

The way he responds . . . it causes you to clench around him. It’s been so long, too long, since you heard him respond to your calls.

You brush your lips across his before chasing him into a kiss, moaning into it when Alastor rocks his hips into you. The way he drags his cock across your wall, slow and tender, forces you to hide your face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Alastor.” You drag your teeth across his shoulder, nipping at the skin.

“I’m right here,” he says. “I’m never leading again.”

Alastor’s hips press against yours, sliding across your walls. He inserts himself slowly, sliding with purpose as if making sure to give each and every sensitive nerve his attention.

A moan tears itself out of him when you bite down on his shoulder, just the way you know he enjoys it. He’s not the only one who’s knowledge hasn’t diminished.

Every movement he makes you keenly aware of him.

“Alastor.”

“I’m never letting you leave my side again,” Alastor says, chasing your lips into a kiss. “I’m staying right here with you, dearest.”

That wasn’t the deal, and you both know it. Just before the sun rises, Alastor will be allowed to leave and not a second before. If Alastor could already take you, he already would have done so. You know how to read between the lines. 

There’s a reason why he didn’t come for you, and that’s the very reason why you didn’t come for him, despite knowing he was calling out for you.

Right now . . . that doesn’t really matter. That same tight coil builds around you. Alastor pounds waves of pleasure into you, playing you like one of his instruments, and you sing into the air for him. The squelching sounds accompany your voice like a symphony.

“You and me, and me and you – for eternity.” Alastor holds you closer, hitting that sensitive spot. “I’m done breaking my vow.”

The words he whispered into your ear are the final nail to the coffin. You pull him even closer to you as the coil of pleasure snaps, shooting frequencies as you come undone in his arms.

Alastor chases his own release, practically rutting himself inside with sloppy strokes. You run your hands down his sweat-stricken back, feeling the fur that runs along his skin. You reach for the base of his tail, squeezing it between your fingers.

His cock spasms inside, shooting seeds to paint you with the evidence of his pleasure. The sound he makes causes you to clamp down on him.

There’s a distinct glare in his eyes as he continues to draw himself out, but none of you can deny that it’s his cum that’s slipping out your cunt, and mixing with the pool of fluids below.

It takes a moment, but your breathings eventually calm as you search for it. Alastor only pulls you closer, even as he softens inside. You press kiss along his face, laughing as Alastor’s breath tickles your skin.

“My dearest, Alastor.” You press a kiss on the edge of his lips. “Will you keep answering me?”

“As long as you keep calling for me,” he says, tracing your lips with a smile, “I’ll never stop answering you.”

The rest of the night goes something like this: tangled limbs under the covers, and gentler caresses with even gentler kisses. Eventually, soft snores replace hushed whispers of conversation.

The night ends.

The sun rises above the horizon, and . . . and well, it rises to two sleeping bodies who hold each other oh, so softly.

[here-there-were-dragons]

no one makes good love songs that aren't explicitly meant to be read as romantic